Scars in our Pasts
by Palmviolet
Summary: A collection of short stories about Thranduil and his family living in the Greenwood, and later Mirkwood. Includes lots of OCs. Rated T for violence, slight suggestive themes, gore and torture. Part 7: The shield is attacked by Dol Guldur, and Thranduil makes a difficult decision.
1. 1:Coronation

**Ok, hi guys. So basically, in this fic, there will be lots of short stories about Thranduil and his family living in the Greenwood as it slowly becomes Mirkwood. There are a lot of OCs in this.**

**This chapter has not been beta'd, so feel free to leave a review commenting on any mistakes- there are bound to be some. **

**_1: Coronation_**

**Summary: Thranduil, Oropher and Faelgell face the army of Sauron on the plains of Dagorlad, with the rest of the Last Alliance. **

**Characters: Thranduil (vigorous spring) - crown prince of the Greenwood.**

**Oropher - King of the Greenwood, father of Thranduil**

**Faelgell (just triumph) - Prince of the Greenwood, brother of Thranduil**

**Hanmîra (intelligent jewel) - Queen of the Greenwood, mother of Thranduil**

**Anorethil (sun tree) - Young soldier of Greenwood, father of Menelêl**

**Menelêl (sky star) - Anorethil's daughter**

**Beldoron (strong oak) - Thranduil's stallion**

**TRANSLATIONS:**

**Ion-nín - my son**

**Adar - father**

**Naneth - mother**

**Aran-nín - my king**

**Hannon-le - thank you**

**Aran - king**

"The sky darkens. We do not have long," Thranduil mutters to Faelgell, standing next to him. They both turn their anxious gazes to the huge force of orcs, wargs, evil men and other foul creatures massing before the Black Gate, and the slightly smaller gathering of the Last Alliance of elves and men. Behind them, in a campaign tent, the leaders of the armies are deep in discussion about battle tactics. Thranduil is meant to be in there with them, with his father and the other commanders. But he ducked out half way through. He's had enough of sitting there, listening to his elders talking endlessly and not getting a word in. He's not used to that. Faelgell, Oropher and Thranduil make all the decisions together back in Greenwood.

He glances back as Oropher exits the tent. He strides over to his sons, before placing a comforting hand on Thranduil's shoulder.

"What has been decided?" He asks curiously. The king sighs. He's obviously not pleased with the result.

"Gil-galad will lead the charge." Oropher's voice is low and laden with dread. Thranduil is shocked by how rattled his father is. Faelgell obviously notices it too.

"You do not agree with this decision?" He guesses correctly. The king nods, before glancing over his shoulder.

"Nothing to be done. If we stir up a fight amongst ourselves, the Dark Lord will sit back and watch us destroy each other without having to get his hands dirty." Oropher's tone is brisk. "Walk with me."

They move through the ranks, restoring courage and morale. The troops are heartened to see their royal family outwardly strong as ever, however fearful they are on the inside. Some of the soldiers are young, almost too young to be fighting. Sadness cloaks Thranduil when he thinks of every elleth, waiting in the Greenwood for sons or fathers or brothers or husbands, that may never come home. But such is the way of war.

Thranduil pats his horse's neck as it whinnies and jitters nervously. "Calm, Beldoron." He whispers, shifting uncomfortably in the saddle. The whole army is waiting, poised to charge, on the crest of the hill. The atmosphere is tense and the air is heavy and thick with foreboding, like a storm is about to strike. Metaphorically, it is. Swords will clash like thunder and armour will glint like lightning, and elves and men will fall like rain.

Oropher raises his hand, to prevent the young and battle-eager soldiers, who are on the brink of charging without orders, from riding forth. However this gives the wrong impression, and over ten dozen soldiers charge out from the ranks, scattering the front line. Panic threatens to overwhelm Thranduil. The battle is almost certainly lost thanks to this mistake. He knows that if they don't all charge, then those elves will die. If they do charge, it will be too early and the rest of the Last Alliance will have to ride forward to support them. Harsh words will be exchanged afterwards, if they live that long.

With a cry, the army of Greenwood charges, and with a roar, the orcs meet them.

Thranduil loses count of how many creatures of Sauron he slays. All he is aware of is the pounding of his heart, the black blood flying everywhere and his blade endlessly cutting at enemies. Suddenly Beldoron stumbles, and that small lapse in concentration is all the orc in front of him needs. The horse falls, crushing the prince's leg beneath it. He cries out, and the orc grins, raising a wicked black sword. But then Oropher is there, cutting the orc down and bending over Thranduil.

"Ion-nín," he smiles. Then another orc rears up behind the king, and the prince tries to call a warning but it's too late. The tip of a blade sprouts from Oropher's chest, and the king crumples forward.

"Adar!" Thranduil yells, trying desperately to ease himself out from underneath the horse. Oropher reaches a blood-soaked hand towards the prince, and he clasps it tightly.

"Farewell, ion-nín. Lead our people well," he murmurs, and then he is gone.

It is not until many hours later that Thranduil and Oropher are discovered lying limp on the battlefield, amongst the other bodies strewn across the vast area. It is feared that both are dead, until the prince's pulse is found, and he is rushed to the healers.

When Faegell is informed of his father's death, he is distraught, and he hurries to his brother's bedside, fearing the worst. However, by this time Thranduil is awake, and together the brothers mourn the king's passing.

"Naneth," Thranduil greets simply, afraid for his mother, who is thin and pale and her eyes are raw from crying. After a few weeks of travelling, they have returned to Greenwood and the prince has finally found time to see Hanmîra.

"Oh, Thranduil." She cries and hurries to embrace him. He staggers as she collides with him, his injured leg still not completely healed.

"You are hurt," she gasps, taking a step back.

"It is nothing," he protests, glancing at Faelgell for support.

"Do not deny it," the younger prince says sternly. "It is not 'nothing'."

"How did he die?" Hanmîra whispers, her voice small and broken. Thranduil swallows.

"He died protecting me." He feels so wretched. If not for him, Oropher would be here and his mother would not be grieving. For a moment, he thinks that Hanmîra is going to slap him, but she lowers her raised hand and more tears begin to fall.

Hanmîra fades a week after Oropher's funeral. The ceremony is long and convoluted, and the king's tomb was intricate and beautiful. It is wrought out of the trees, in a specially made flet. A statue of him stands in the corner, intricately carved. Thranduil can't bear to look at it.

Hanmîra's funeral is a rather more quiet affair, and she is laid to rest with Oropher. The two funerals have left Thranduil drained and tired, and the coronation is not until three months later.

With the final words, the newly crowned king stands up. He's barely aware of the crowds around him. He's too busy worrying that he won't be strong enough. The crown is heavy, and briefly he wonders how he's going to bear walking around with it, all the time.

After the coronation, he decides to take a quick walk. He needs fresh air. However, waiting for him in the shadows of the trees is a young elleth. He recognises her face, although he last saw it lying still on the Plains of Dagorlad, cold and pale in death.

"Congratulations, aran-nín." She says, dipping her head respectfully.

"Hannon-le." He pauses. "You are Anorethil's daughter," Thranduil states.

"Yes. My name is Menelêl." She pauses, narrowing her eyes. "You blame me for Aran Oropher's death."There is no tone of accusation in her tone, but the serious and simple way she says it makes the king pang with guilt.

He hesitates, before deciding to answer with the truth. "In part, yes. But Anorethil couldn't have known that Adar would die." He's surprised that he manages to say it without his voice shaking. "And he wasn't the only one who charged early." Menelêl smiles, bringing her pale and pointed features to life.

"It seems we are at an understanding, aran-nín." Thranduil smiles briefly, before nodding politely and leaving the clearing, returning to his duties as king once more, that are to be his life from now on.

**END OF FIRST STORY**


	2. 2: Erell Part 1

**2: Erell 1**

**This one is about Thranduil meeting his future queen. It's in a few parts, so this isn't the only chapter on it. Enjoy!**

**Characters: Thranduil - King of Greenwood the Great**

**Faelgell - Brother of Thranduil, Commander of the army**

**Erell - Sister of Elrond**

**Elrond - Lord of Rivendell**

**Celebrian - wife of Elrond**

"Aran-nín?" Thranduil looks up, rubbing his forehead wearily, to see Faelgell slip into the room.

"Faelgell, there really is no need for you to call me by my title." He sighs. His brother looks rather nervous. When Faelgell still doesn't speak, the king stands up, looking irritable.

"What do you have to tell me?" He questions, patience evaporating.

"Lord Elrond has requested a meeting with you, to discuss trade." Faelgell ducks his head, bracing himself for the explosion that is bound to come. Thranduil doesn't disappoint.

"Lord Elrond has requested a meeting?! How dare he?!" He rubs his temples wearily, remembering the last time he had dealings with the elves of Rivendell. They had refused to send aid to a group of silvan elves, coming from Greenwood, attacked by orcs. And when they had arrived in Imladris, battered and bleeding, Elrond had demanded some of their goods be given to Rivendell as payment for the help they received. All in all, it had been a terrible affair, and Thranduil had hoped that he wouldn't have to deal with Elrond any time soon. But now this.

With some difficulty, the elven king reins in his temper. His voice is calm and measured when he continues. "I accept his offer, but I hope for his sake he has a decent reason for this." Thranduil says coldly, and Faelgell smirks.

* * *

"Erell," A voice comes from behind her. She turns to see Celebrian standing in the doorway, a smile on her fair features. "Aran Thranduil has arrived."

Erell turns back to the scene unfolding below her balcony- the Greenwood king dismounting, glaring coldly at Elrond. She grins. "I know. I can see them." Celebrian joins her on the balcony, smirking.

"They really are on a knife edge, aren't they?"

"That's ellon for you. They're both too proud for their own good." Erell comments.

"You should get dressed for dinner. Prepare for tense silences and frosty glares." Celebrian laughs, leaving the room. Erell calls her maid, and while she waits, she catches the eye of Thranduil. She stares into his icy blue gaze, before she looks away and he leaves the courtyard.

* * *

"Aran Thranduil, may I present my sister, Lady Erell." Elrond introduces stiffly, and Thranduil watches him for a moment before turning his attention to the elleth standing next to him. Her wavy brown hair is held back loosely by a golden circlet and her features are pointed, her cheekbones high and sharp like some powerful goddess. She wears deep red robes, plain and simple but even more beautiful because of that.

"It is a pleasure," the elven king says, dipping his head graciously. She smiles.

"The pleasure is all mine," she replies smoothly.

Dinner is awkward and the cold silence is occaisionally punctuated by brief attempts at conversation by Glorfindel, Erestor, Celebrian and Erell. After the meal, one by one the others leave the table, until it's just Elrond, Thranduil and Erell left in the room.

"Thranduil..." Elrond begins, but trails off, and the elven king is gratified to notice his guilt.

"Are you going to apologize?" Thranduil asks rudely. There's a muffled gasp from Erell, but the king doesn't care. Elrond lowers his silver gaze.

"There was famine in Imladris. None of the warriors were strong enough to fight off orcs. And we needed the supplies that they gave us."

"Gave you?" The elven king repeats incredulously. "As I recall, you demanded that the supplies be handed over to you. What if we needed those supplies? You never once considered that we might have been starving too."

Noticeable guilt crosses the lord of Rivendell's fair features. "I'm sorry, Thranduil. Can we put this behind us?" Thranduil sighs, resting his elbows on the table and massaging his temples.

"Yes, Elrond, we can. This has gone on long enough." With that he stands, and leaves the room. Erell exits after him, and Elrond is left alone at the table, deep in thought.

"Aran Thranduil?" Erell asks cautiously at the king's rapidly retreating back. He turns gracefully.

"Erell?" He replies softly.

She hesitates. "I'm sorry to bother you. It's just... I wondered what you were talking about, back there. Elrond rarely involves me in affairs of state and such, and I'm curious.." She trails off, embarassed.

"Tis not a tale for me to tell. On of my company was there. Mayhap he will tell you tomorrow." Thranduil sighs.

Erell nods. "Hannon-le." Thranduil smiles and strides off. Erell too retreats to her room.

* * *

Over the next few days, Thranduil rarely sees the sister of Elrond. He is wrapped up in the deliberations over trading routes and such, and he is surprised to find them relatively enjoyable. Discussing with a friend is far easier than discussing with a stranger, he finds.

When it is time to leave, Erell sees them off. She is strangely sad to see Thranduil go. "Who is the lucky ellon?" Celebrian laughs from next to her and Erell's head whips towards her.

"I'm sorry?" She questions quickly.

"You have that moony look in your eyes." The wife of Elrond clarifies, giggling.

Erell frowns. "Do I? Oh. " But she doesn't elaborate.


	3. 2: Erell Part 2

**here is part two of the second story, 'Erell'. Enjoy!**

"Erell, must you come with us?" Elrond pleads desperately. She turns a stony silver glare on him.

"Yes, I must. I've had enough of Rivendell. There is never anything interesting happening here." She replies impatiently.

The elven lord sighs. "Very well. But I am not providing an escort should you wish to return early."

"I am not an elfling!" Erell blazes, but her brother has already turned back to his conversation with Erestor. Angrily she mounts her white horse, gently stroking its neck. She was lying to Elrond when she had said she's had enough of Rivendell. Rivendell is a beautiful, calm place, a place where she could spend her whole life happily. But as well as yearning for a life of peace, she wants to see more of Middle Earth- the other elves in Lothlorien and Greenwood, the dwarves in Erebor and Moria, the men spread all over and the Ents of Fangorn. Then perhaps she can have her life of peace and quiet.

* * *

"Yrch, up ahead!" A scout calls, and immediately the atmosphere changes to tense and foreboding. Elrond draws his sword, and Erell's guards try to hurry her into the shade of the trees. She is having none of it, however, and holds out her hand for a bow and arrows. They are reluctantly provided, and she springs up into a tree, fitting an arrow to the string. The orcs are not far off, and from her perch in the tree Erell can see each gruesome figure clearly. What orcs are doing this close to the Greenwood, she has no idea, only that they're there, and outnumbering the elves four to one.

In a matter of minutes the orcs are upon them, and Erell does all she can, picking off the orcs with her arrows. However she is not a good shot and she misses two for every one she hits, and she soon runs out of arrows and is perched helpless as an elfling in the tree.

"Kill all the yrch but one!" A voice suddenly cries, and the trees come alive with elves clad in green and brown. A quiver full of arrows is thrown to her, and she catches it with a call of thanks. Then the battle continues with more vigour, and the orcs are pushed back until none are left alive save one.

Erell slides out of the tree and strides purposefully over to where the elves are congregating around the lone surviving orc. As she nears them she catches the end of the conversation.

"-to the palace, where Aran Thranduil can deal with it." The leader of the Greenwood elves says, an ellon who looks so like Thranduil that he must be his brother.

"Erell! There you are," Elrond greets warmly.

"Greetings, Lady Erell." Thranduil's brother says, dipping his head. Erell smiles courteously. "I am Faelgell, Commander of the Army of the Greenwood." He continues, saying his title with pride.

None of the elves are hurt, but no doubt they would have been if the Greenwood elves hadn't come to the rescue.

* * *

The Rivendell elves ride with the Greenwood elves, making polite conversation. Erell ends up next to Faelgell, and they talk reservedly.

"How did you know to come to our aid?" She asks curiously. He smiles.

"The trees. They sensed what was happening, and they notified us." Her eyes widen. She'd heard talk that the silvan and sindar elves are close to the trees, but this is beyond her wildest imaginings. To hear him talking about it in such a matter-of-fact tone, well.

* * *

Dinner that night is a grand affair. Erell soon learns that Thranduil doesn't do banquets and things by halves- all in all, she comes to the conclusion that the wood elves are merry folk, far cheerier and happier than the elves of Rivendell. She finds that she prefers the loud, raucous laughter of the merry elves in the Greenwood palace to the mournful, peaceful silence in Imladris.

After the dinner, Erell slips out to the balcony to excuse herself from dancing. To her surprise, Thranduil is already there, staring out into the night.

"Oh, I'm sorry. I'll go," she says. The elvenking turns to her, and to her extreme shock, there are tears trickling down his cheeks.

"It was four hundred years ago today that my adar died." He murmurs, by way of explanation. Erell doesn't know what to say, only that she shouldn't leave him alone with his grief. She joins him at the railing, looking out on the moonlit forest.

After a while, she says, "It's beautiful, isn't it?" Thranduil nods.

"Yes. Greenwood the Great," He whispers. They stand there for about ten minutes, with just the companionable silence stretching on.

"We must be getting back to the party," he says quietly, and they both leave the balcony.

They dance together that night, and at all the following parties where they meet. Erell wouldn't go as far as to call it love, not yet, but close friendship maybe. And perhaps love may yet form between the bored elleth and the lonely elvenking, in time.


	4. 3: Sharliel

**this is a double update, because i haven't updated for ages. It's also quite long. This is a new story.**

**characters: Sharliel**

**Faelgell**

**Thranduil**

**Sarener**

An ellon hurries through the trees, stopping every so often to glance over his shoulder. His ginger hair is hidden under his hood, and his blue eyes are dark and full of hate. This is an ellon that is not meant to be here, who fears getting caught, who is up to no good.

And tailing him is an elleth who has been trained in the same way he has, who is the same as him in almost every way. Every way but one. She has stayed on the path of Light, whereas he is on the path of Dark.

She does not know who he is working for, or if he is even working for someone. She just knows she has to stop him, before he succeeds in his mission. A mission which will topple Greenwood the Great, if it goes well.

A mission to kill the elvenking.

* * *

"Hey! Watch where you're go-" The elleth stops mid-rant as she realises who it is that she just bumped in to. "Oh! I'm so sorry."

Faelgell smiles. "It doesn't matter. Are you in a hurry?"

The elleth shakes her head. "I just wasn't looking where I was going. I am sorry." He stoops and picks up the book she dropped, seeing the name written on the inside of the cover.

"That's all right. Sharliel, is it?" He queries, handing back the book.

She nods briefly. "I'm sorry. I need to go." She apologises, and hurries off. Faelgell watches her go, a smile playing on his lips.

"I'll look out for you, Sharliel. You and your fiery hair."

* * *

"You've invited everyone in the palace? Surely, Thranduil, that's a bit excessive, even for you?" Faelgell exclaims. The elvenking smiles.

"Precisely. We haven't had a proper ball in ages, Faelgell. Plus you need a wife."

Faelgell refrains from adding that so does Thranduil, knowing that it would spoil his brother's mood. "Very well then. But I am not handing out the invites." He laughs.

* * *

Three weeks later, the Midsummer Ball is held. Faelgell begins the evening talking with high-ranking elves and having his glass of wine constantly refilled, before he spots Sharliel in the crowd. He makes his way over to her, all thoughts of wine forgotten, and they start to dance.

Then she stands on tiptoe and starts to whisper in his ear. "There will be an assassination attempt on the life of Aran Thranduil tonight, during the speech. Most likely a sniper, or perhaps poison. Be on your guard."

She steps away from him and, smiling as if she'd just told a joke, melts into the crowd. Even in his rather drunk state, Faelgell can sense the gravity of the situation. He doesn't know how Sharliel knows, only that he has to take action. Quickly he beckons to some guards.

"Search the area. We're looking for a sniper, or anyone acting suspiciously. Report back if you see anything." He orders, and the guards nod and rush off. Faelgell strides towards Thranduil, who is talking with an advisor.

"Thranduil, I need a word." He says rudely. The elvenking looks taken aback, but nods and turns to the advisor.

"Excuse me a moment," he says, and follows his brother to the side of the party.

"What are you do-"

"There is going to be an attempt on your life, tonight. During the speech." Faelgell cuts him off, speaking quickly and urgently. "I have guards on the lookout but they might not find the assassin."

"You suspect a sniper?" Thranduil questions seriously.

"Or poison. Don't drink or eat anything without having someone test it first." The commander continues. The elvenking looks ready to protest but Faelgell is having none of it. "It may seem like a pointless waste of life to you but these people are willing to lay down their lives for their king, and you are far more important right now than whoever tries your food." He feels a tiny prick of shame for his brutish, cold assessment of the situation but he quickly stamps it down. What he said is all true.

When they rejoin the ball, most people are seated ready for the speech and feast. They don't have much time.

One of the guards that Faelgell sent off approaches him, an anxious look on his face.

"No sign of a sniper. That elleth you were talking to earlier, the one with ginger hair, was acting a bit strangely. She was scouting around, same as we were, looking worried." The ellon says.

The commander nods. "Hannon-le. Keep looking. Where did you see the elleth?"

The guard gives him the location and hurries away.

Could Sharliel be the assassin? But why would she warn him? No, not unless...

"Idiot," he says under his breath. Sharliel is going after the assassin herself. Surely she knows how dangerous it is?

Faelgell rushes towards where she was spotted, in a flet above the ball. As he begins to climb up, he sees a flash of ginger hair in the flet next to it. Sighing, he strides over to that one and climbs up. What he sees is not a good sight. Sharliel and a ginger-haired ellon are wrestling with each other, with the elleth trying to get a bow out of the ellon's grip. Suddenly they roll towards the edge of the flet and before Faelgell can do anything, both have fallen into the crowds below. The ellon gets up immediately and starts running, but Sharliel is not so lucky. She cries out, clutching her wrist. But before long she too gets up.

"Don't just stand there!" She screams at the shocked, frozen crowd. "Go after him!"

* * *

Ignoring her broken wrist, Sharliel races after her brother the assassin. A few elves join her, but most are either frozen with surprise or too drunk to give chase. She removes the thin knife that had been hidden in her braid as she runs, and throws it at the assassin. It catches him in the shoulder and he cries out, but keeps running. He pushes past two elflings playing hopscotch in the leaves, and Sharliel calls out an apology as she sprints after him. He scrambles up to a high flet, and the elleth follows, holding the dagger that had been strapped to her thigh.

She advances on him, and he steps back until he is pressed up against the railings.

"So, sister. Always the good elleth." He smirks.

She watches at him coolly. "Do not think I would not kill you, even if I did love you. I spent all those years training too, remember? 'Be ruthless, don't feel' and all that." She pauses, enjoying the way he trembles. "But then you killed our tutor, didn't you? Why was that, Sarener? Was it because he saw what you did to those human children?"

Sarener is shaking visibly now, his terror obvious. "I-I needed to. I was commanded to."

"By who? Or are you just lying to save yourself?" Her voice is dripping with scorn.

Suddenly he regains his confidence. "I am telling the truth, but you will never know who, or what. I hope my face haunts your darkest nightmares, Sharliel. Goodbye." With that he smashes the railings out of the way and jumps off the flet, his broken body lying limp on the ground below.

She screams in rage. "Fool!"

When she climbs down, quite a crowd is gathering around his cold body. She spots Thranduil and Faelgell amongst them. When they spot her, the Commander and the king stride towards her.

"I presume he was the assassin," the elvenking says coldly, glancing at the body with contempt.

Sharliel nods. "Yes, he was. I took care of him."

She takes this opportunity to study the king properly. He's taller than she imagined, with broad shoulders and rich burgundy robes. His icy blue eyes seem to pierce her very soul, reading her darkest secrets.

"You have warrior training?" He asks.

"I trained as an assassin." She replies. "With him." She nudges the body with her foot. "Then he tortured and mutilated two human children, killed our tutor, and went rogue. I lived in Lothlorien for a while, but then I moved up here, and lived in one of the southern villages. Then I heard about Sarener coming here, so I followed him."

"Why should we trust you? How do we know you're not working with him?" An advisor questions suspiciously.

"Because I just killed him and saved Aran Thranduil's life?" She says, inwardly rolling her eyes at the ellon's stupidity.

Thranduil narrows his eyes, as if thinking. "Where are you staying?"

"With my friend outside the palace." Sharliel replies.

"You may stay in the palace, if you would like. I shall have a flet prepared for you." He states, and she smiles.

"Hannon-le, Aran-nín. I would be most grateful." She says formally, though inside she is delighted. This is what makes it all worth it.

* * *

"Greetings, Sharliel." Faelgell says, smiling as he steps onto the balcony next to her. "It is a glorious evening, is it not?"

She nods. She's been here a month, and she still hasn't got used to the beauty of the Greenwood palace.

"Do you think Aran Thranduil minds me staying here for so long? For I have no pressing desire to return to my life in the southern villages." She asks quietly.

The commander smiles. "I don't know about Thranduil, but I certainly want you to stay." He whispers, then kisses her full on the mouth. The kiss is so unexpected that she does nothing but stand there for a moment, shocked, but then she realises that this is what she wants too. She kisses him back.


	5. 4: Marriage & Elflings

**Incredibly short chapter today- eek! But it is a double update, so that's ok.**

**This is basically a continuation of the story 'Erell.'**

"Thranduil?" Erell pokes her head around the door.

He looks up from his work. "Yes?"

"We're all waiting for you." She says, and he sighs.

"Just give me a moment," he replies. She instead walks over to him, sitting on his desk. She smiles.

"You work yourself to the bone."

"If I didn't, the Greenwood would grind to a halt. Still, it seems strange that I should have to sort out disputes between laundry companies." He chuckles.

Erell laughs too. "Come on, you can sort that out tomorrow. You have got guests," she adds playfully. He grunts and stands up, following her out of the room.

In the time since they first met, they have grown very close. In love, even, though neither of them realise it yet.

* * *

After dinner many a year later they take a walk in the trees.

"You are leaving tomorrow, are you not?" Thranduil asks softly.

Erell nods. "Yes. We are." She swallows.

"We should see more of each other. Rather than just stolen moments on the back of meetings." The elvenking says quietly.

She smiles. "Yes, I think so. Wait, are you proposing to me?!"

"Yes, I think I am. Will you accept?" He questions with a grin. He can't care less about the political advantages or disadvantages of the marriage. He doesn't mind that she's a Noldor and he's a Sindar. Valar, he just wants her to say yes.

After what seems like an eternity, she smirks. "Yes. I accept your marriage proposal. Though what my brother will say about this, I don't know."

* * *

A year later they are married. It is a grand affair, with the king and his newly wedded wife dressed in silver and white. After the wedding there is a huge reception, naturally, and it is after many goblets of wine that Faelgell stands up and announces that he and Sharliel will be getting married within the next year. This is greeted with much applause and merry-making, as the woodland elves do love a good party, and the royal family hold the best feasts and banquets in the Greenwood. The king and queen are not in the least displeased that Faelgell stole their thunder, in fact they are happy for the couple.

So about a year later, there is another wedding. It is rather more modest than the previous one, but the dinner afterwards is by no means minimal.

* * *

About fifty years after the two weddings, Erell lies in the bedchamber, cradling a small baby. Thranduil sits in a chair beside her, grinning proudly.

"What should we call her?" He asks softly.

Erell smiles. "Varcia suits her, I think. She'll be a little fighter."

The next elfling to be born to the royal family is Erynsell, daughter of Faelgell and Sharliel. Sweet-tempered and beautiful, the elleth is like an angel.

Then Echuilel is born to Erell, and it is a much more difficult birth. But hours later the queen once again holds a tiny elfling in her arms.

For years after that the palace is free of elflings, as the three grow up and venture outside the halls. Fiery, headstrong Varcia, Beautiful, kind Erynsell. And clever, thoughtful Echuilel, the crown prince of the realm.


	6. 5: Prank War

**I thought we needed a bit of humour to lighten the mood- the next story is incredibly dark. I won't be posting that one for about a week though- I am on holiday with limited wifi and half of the next story is still at home. (Oops.)**

**Enjoy!**

**Characters- Varcia- oldest child of Thranduil**

**Echuilel- crown prince of Greenwood/second child of Thranduil**

**Elladan**

**Elrohir**

**Elrond**

**Thranduil**

**Erynsell**

"I swear to the Valar that if you prank me once more I will involve Varcia!" The twins immediately stop laughing when they hear Echuilel's threat. Everyone is afraid of Varcia, including Elladan and Elrohir, and she makes a good ally in a prank war.

"Involve me in what?" Varcia's voice precedes her by about a second, and she rounds the corner, tossing her wavy golden hair over her shoulder. She looks Echuilel up and down, eyeing disapprovingly the bright red paint splattered all over him. "Your doing, I presume?" She asks the twins disdainfully. They remain silent. "Echuilel, I really don't see what the fuss is about. It's only a bit of paint. They've done worse, after all." Echuilel looks downcast. It seems she won't be his saviour after all. But he perks up a bit at her next statement, "But, because you two do it so often and are so annoying, this means war." They gulp.

* * *

"Tell us how to reverse the dye! Now!" Elladan yells, as he and Elrohir chase after Varcia and Echuilel. The effect is rather spoilt, however, by the fact that their robes are bright pink, and their hair is green.

The twins chase Varcia and Echuilel outside, and under a tree. The siblings dive out of the way as a huge shower of water drops on the twins' heads, leaving them dripping and shivering.

"I think we won, do you not?" Varcia announces, and Elrohir shakes his fist at them.

"We'll get you for this!" He yells. "Just you wait."

When the twins troop back inside, they see Thranduil and Elrond staring at them. Then, in unison, the two older ellons burst out laughing.

"And that," the elvenking says in between chuckles, "is the losing team in the prank war."

The twins respond with a glare and they trudge back to their rooms. However, when they get there they discover that every single item of clothing they own has been dyed pink. When they try to get new clothes, or to borrow some, no one will give them anything- they just grin and walk away. So Elladan and Elrohir end up spending the next few weeks dressed in pink robes, until they finally work out how to get the dye out. By then the royal family of the Greenwood have left for home, and the twins have missed out on a chance for revenge.

* * *

However a few years later, an opportunity for vengeance arises and the twins can't resist. After a large party in the Greenwood, almost everyone is completely flat out drunk. Most of the drunken elves are sleeping it off, but for the twins it is their chance.

They sneak into Erynsell's room, fair Erynsell who never has any part in the prank wars, and loosen the canopy above her bed. Then they dampen the logs in the fireplace, steal her circlet and pour water over all her clothes. Then they snigger, and hurry out of the room.

The next morning Erynsell can be seen slapping the twins across their faces, hard, with a strange dignity to her in her soaked white dress. Beautiful Erynsell, who is usually so calm, shy and kind, is livid.

"You little pair of yrch! That is it! You bastards!" She punches Elladan on the nose and kicks Elrohir in a painful place. "Varcia!" She yells, as they happen to be right outside her door. The door is opened to reveal a blinking princess clutching her head, obviously nursing a hangover. But when she sees the twins her eyes brighten.

"You have it coming, boys." She says, and they swallow nervously. "Firstly, that!" She slaps them both around the head, "was for pranking my cousin. You have invoked both of our wraths by doing so, and together we make a dangerous opponent. Secondly, you are in our realm now, so we know the terrain and have the other elves on our side."

"It seems you have the elves in Rivendell on your side too," Elladan complains. "How did you get them to refuse to give us clothes?"

"Isn't it obvious? Everyone's terrified of her." Elrohir replies scornfully. With that, Varcia pulls Erynsell into her room and gives her some dry clothes. Then they start planning their next prank.

* * *

"Sorry, all the bows seem to be in use right now." The ellon says with a wicked smile.

"But ours have gone missing, and we promised Echuilel we'd train with him." Elladan replies mournfully.

"We do have the bows that the elflings use," the ellon adds, handing them miniature bows. The twins don't take them.

"What about swords?" Elrohir asks desperately.

The ellon shakes his head. "Nope, only elfling-size ones."

Which is why the twins can be seen an hour later training with tiny swords and tiny bows, with no boots and pink flower garlands stuck in their hair. No matter what they do, they can't get the flowers out, and no one will lend them boots.

That evening, Varcia officially declares the prank war over.

"If either one of you ever prank anyone in my family ever again, including me, I will replace your clothes with potato sacks, dye your hair permanently pink, glue your lips together and put itching powder in your bedsheets." She announces. "Am I clear?"

"As clear as crystal," the twins promise, already formulating a counter-attack in their minds.

"I mean it!" She says sharply. "I can see those little cogs whirring. There is no way you are getting out of this one, elflings."


	7. 6: Darkness Stirs Part 1

**Hi. This chapter is rather late in coming, so sorry about that. But enjoy!**

**Characters: Varcia**

**Echuilel**

**Thranduil**

**Tarascir**

"Yrch, up ahead." The ellon next to her hisses, and she nods, signalling for the patrol to halt.

Varcia has a powerful physique- she is strong and musclular, not your usual elleth. She wears no helm, only an intricate silver circlet pinning her wavy golden hair back.

She unsheathes her sword silently, and creeps up the trunk of the nearest tree. The tree relaxes in her presence, recognizing a member of the royal family.

She almost falls out of the tree when she senses the cloying darkness festering in the tree's aura. She's surprised that it hasn't tried to kill her, but she can puzzle over that later. For now she has to focus on the orcs- and men, she now notices- trespassing in the forest.

She runs nimbly across a wide branch so she is directly above the group. She eyes them warily. The majority is men, and the company is made up with at least fifty orcs, and a few wargs too. They are all armoured and equipped with wicked-looking weapons.

Varcia doesn't give herself time to talk herself out of it, and leaps down into battle. The rest of her patrol follow her, some staying in the trees to snipe from above.

The tide of elves, despite being heavily outnumbered, sweeps the opposition aside easily with few casualties. The orcs and men obviously aren't trained for battle.

Eventually only one man is left, kneeling on the ground. A fierce elleth stands above him, sword raised.

"Daro!" Varcia calls, and the elleth turns, a questioning look on her face. "We can question him." The princess says, by way of explanation. The man looks relieved, and Varcia scowls, grabbing him by the collar.

"Believe me, human, by the time I've finished with you you'll wish you died with your comrades." She snarls.

"But elves are merciful creatures. Surely King Thranduil-"

"Do not sully my father's name by speaking it!" Her eyes flash dangerously. "Do not rile me, human. It may be the last thing you ever do."

The man snorts. "I highly doubt that. What are you going to do? Kill me? Your father is a coward who fears the wrath of my kin. He won't let you hurt me."

In a flash, her sword is at his throat. "There is much I can do, human. I was willing to extract the information I seek using fear, but I have changed my mind. I'm going to enjoy hearing you scream."

* * *

A few hours later, Varcia's patrol strides into the courtyard, with the prisoner bound among them.

"Take him to the dungeons. I'll be there soon." She orders, and two elves take the man away.

Echuilel comes running up to her, a massive grin on his face.

"We now have a little brother." He says, and Varcia returns the smile.

"A brother? Naneth was so sure it would be a girl." She replies.

Echuilel shakes his head. "Adar, as you can imagine, was pleased to have been right. The elfling's name is Legolas."

Varcia smiles again distractedly. She wonders how she is going to tell her parents about the minature army they defeated, and the darkness creeping in the trees. She doesn't want to spoil their happy day.

"Aren't you going to come and see him?" Her brother asks, and she realises that she's striding towards the dungeons.

"I'll come later. I have something I need to do first."

* * *

"What were you doing in the Greenwood?" Varcia hisses, glaring intently at the prisoner. He just stares back defiantly.

"Very well. I was hoping it would come to this." She slaps him and produces a knife from her belt.

She looks him in the eyes, icy blue meeting hazel brown, and she is gratified to see the fear in the man.

"Tell me what I want to know, or I use this knife."

The man quails under her fierce gaze. "We-we were sent to attack the southern villages."

"By who?" She questions, getting into her stride. The man licks his lips nervously. "Come now, pray tell." She raises the knife.

"I don't know! I don't know! I'm a simple bandit, you know, and our leader just said we were going to attack some elven villages! All they mentioned was Amon Lanc! Please, please!" He blurts out.

"That wasn't so hard, was it now?" She pauses for effect. "Did you encounter any resistance from the trees as you passed?"

He stares at her. "R-r-resistance? Not really...?"

She freezes, and closes her eyes slowly. This is worse than she could have imagined.

She turns and sweeps out of the cell, slamming the door behind her. She'll have to tell her parents, no matter how good their day was previously.

* * *

"The guards tell me you breached the limits of interrogation. I trust this was not without good reason?" Thranduil has his back to her, but she can sense the disappointment radiating off him.

"I merely threatened." Varcia replies.

"And yet both the prisoner and two guards can testify that you slapped him." The king says, keeping his tone neutral and even.

She sighs in exasperation. "But-"

"By rights all that he said should be disregarded, and you punished."

"But my point-" She is cut off again as if she hadn't spoken.

"As it is, I-"

"WILL YOU JUST LISTEN TO ME?! DARKNESS IS STIRRING IN OUR FOREST AND YOU ARE WORRYING ABOUT PROTOCOL! I FACED A SMALL ARMY TODAY WITH NO MORE THAN THIRTY ELVES!" Varcia explodes angrily, unable to take it anymore. Thranduil turns, an expression of shock replacing his usual impenetrable mask. "A minature army of men, orcs and wargs entered the Greenwood today, and faced no opposition by the trees."

The king's eyes widen. She takes this as her signal to continue. "The man I was questioning was one of them, and he told me that they were here to attack the southern villages. Furthermore, he was not told from whom his orders came from, only that his leaders mentioned Amon Lanc. I suggest you send me to scout at Amon Lanc, to see what is going on."

"Varcia-"

"Do not lie, I am the best warrior in the realm. No, I am not just being big-headed. It is true, and you know it." She finishes, and Thranduil sighs.

"Very well. You may scout at Amon Lanc. But take Tarascir with you." He sees that she is about to argue and shakes his head. "No, you are not going alone. It will be dangerous, if what that man says is true."


	8. 6: Darkness Stirs Part 2

"Daro." Varcia whispers, holding up her hand. Tarascir oblidges, and they crouch down, looking up at the abandoned fortress. It certainly looks abandoned, but looks can be deceiving.

"We'll head round, and then up," she says, and the ellon nods. They creep around the hill, with nothing but the intense dark aura surrounding the place suggesting anything amiss.

When they reach the fortress, they climb silently up a wall, covered in twisted ivy. Once at the top, Varcia stares intently down, but she cannot see anything wrong. Nothing. Perhaps the man was lying, or maybe-

An arrow shoots through the air, narrowly avoiding Tarascir. The dark-haired ellon looks shocked, but quickly regains his composure and readies his bow.

They leap down, and Varcia brandishes her sword. But she's fighting enemies she can't see, and soon they are forced down the hillside.

They accept defeat and race away into the trees. Once they are a safe distance away, Tarascir smiles grimly.

"So you were right." He says softly, but the princess doesn't reply. Her attention is focused on the knife embedded in her abdomen. Her fingers clench around it, and she draws it out ever so slowly. Then she looks up at Tarascir and smiles slowly, before she drops the bloody knife on the ground, her eyes rolling up into her head, and collapses on the leaves.

* * *

"Come on, Varcia, stay with me." Tarascir murmurs, undoing the bandages around her torso. He doesn't like what he sees- the wound refuses to stop bleeding, and a sticky black substance stains the edges. Poison.

It's been a day since they scouted at Amon Lanc, and they're making very slow progress in getting back to the palace. If they don't get help soon, he's afraid that Varcia will die. Then, his life would be unlivable. And not just because the elvenking would make his life hell.

He replaces the bandages, and hefts her limp form into his arms. Then he strides through the trees, keeping an eye out for anything that could attack them.

After a few hours of walking, they near a clearing. Tarascir lays Varcia down gratefully, and checks his own wounds. A small cut on his calf, and another on his arm. They both stopped bleeding long ago, and although he had to stitch the leg wound, they are healing well. He's lucky.

He glances at Varcia and is horrified to see that she is trembling slightly, beads of sweat appearing on her forehead. Hesitantly he lays a hand on her cheek and withdraws it immediately, shocked at the heat radiating off her skin.

"Valar, Varcia, what am I supposed to do now?" He mutters. He checks her pulse and it is weak and fluttering.

He looks around in desperation, and spots a clump of athelas.

"Thank you, Valar." He whispers and heads over to it. "Varcia, this is going to work. It has to."

* * *

Tarascir looks up as an elf emerges from the trees. It's his old captain.

"Thank the Valar!" He hurries over to the ellon, and gestures behind him at Varcia, lying on the forest floor.

"Is that the princess?" The captain asks, shock evident in his voice.

Tarascir nods. "We were attacked in Amon Lanc, long story. Can you help us?"

"Yes. My horse is back there," The captain replies, and Tarascir gathers Varcia into his arms. "You go with her on my horse. I will walk back."

"Are you sure?" Tarascir questions uncertainly.

"Yes. The princess' safety is more important than my comfort."

Tarascir leaps onto the horse, arranging Varcia in front of him, and then the horse bolts off.

* * *

In a matter of hours they reach the palace, and as she is shepherded into the healing ward, with Thranduil anxiously hovering nearby, Tarascir slowly walks away. He tries to squash the feeling of resentment that he isn't allowed to sit with her. Varcia's father, mother and brothers are with her- why would he be needed there?

He thinks wistfully back to the days when they were elflings, and his father was still in Middle Earth so he lived in the palace. Varcia and Tarascir would play hide and go seek among the trees and gardens, just him and her. But everything changed when his father sailed and they moved to the south. A milennia later found his mother sailed and Tarascir training back in the palace, but he could never be as close with Varcia as he had been.

His thoughts turn darker as he thinks of what happened on Amon Lanc. The darkness he felt festering there... He doesn't know what is stirring in the forest, but he knows it can't be good.


	9. 7: Physical & Mental Attacks

**Hi. Sorry this took so long, I had some 'technical' problems. (aka exams, me being lazy, wifi being an idiot, etc). This is the penultimate chapter in this fic. When this fic is finished, I'm going to write a Skulduggery Pleasant one. Look out for it :)**

**Characters: Erell**

**Thranduil**

**Echuilel**

"Echuilel is doing well, isn't he?" Erell comments as they wander through the gardens. The shadow has been creeping ever closer to the palace, but as of yet it hasn't reached it. The palace is still green and beautiful as it ever was.

"Hmm," Thranduil agrees distractedly from beside her, staring at the sky, frowning.

"Thranduil?" She questions nervously, but he just holds up a hand and steps into the middle of the clearing where there is less tree cover.

Suddenly something moves in the shadows. The king's reaction is instantaneous. A dagger slips out of his sleeve and he steps in front of Erell defensively.

A large spider leaps, and Thranduil ducks, the beast sailing over them. The creature hisses angrily and lunges for the king, recognising him as the threat. It barrels him over and, armed only with the small dagger, the he is virtually defenceless.

"Guards! Help! Someone help us!" Erell screams desperately, before grabbing a stick from the ground and hitting the giant spider repeatedly.

It turns, leaving Thranduil, and advances menacingly on Erell. She panics and drops the stick, turning and scrambling up the nearest tree. The spider, of course, scuttles up after her.

She looks past the spider at Thranduil, who is stood up and stepping carefully over to the beast as if to surprise it. But suddenly a cry of pain is torn from his lips and he stares up at the sky in horror. He collapses to his knees, eyes closed, fighting some invisible battle.

Luckily, guards race into the clearing at that moment, taking in Thranduil and the queen, and of course the spider. Three arrows bring it down, and Erell hurries down from the tree towards the king, around whom guards are circling nervously.

"Somebody get the healers!" Erell orders hysterically, eyeing the blood dripping from the elvenking's nose worriedly.

A guard is sent off, but Echuilel runs into the clearing.

"Everyone get back!" He orders. Erell looks at him questioningly.

"The shield around the forest. Dol Guldur are trying to breach it." He explains, before kneeling beside his father and closing his eyes.

Erell steps back, but she can still feel the power emanating from the two figures.

Beads of sweat appear on their foreheads, but neither of them make a move to brush them away.

After what seems like hours, they both open their eyes. Thranduil touches a finger to the dried blood on his face, an expression of curiosity on his face. He staggers to his feet, wincing.

Echuilel stands too, pain and exhaustion shown clearly on his features. He goes two steps before collapsing, and Thranduil goes four.

Later, Thranduil and Erell talk.

"What are we going to do now?" She asks quietly, sadly almost.

The king is silent for a long time before he answers. "We have to move north." He says finally, his voice solemn.

"But surely-"

"What happened today was two attacks on this realm. One mental, and one physical. Neither Echuilel nor I could not withstand an attack of the same strength in the near future, and the attacks are bound to increase. We have to move." He sighs heavily.

"Where will we move?" She questions softly.

"I don't know. We need somewhere more protected, more sheltered. And definitely further north."

They discuss ideas all night, and in the morning they present them to the council. After much deliberation, it is decided that a huge cavern far north is suitable.

Two years of preparation later, the elves migrate north. There are those in the southern villages who refuse to move, and they are removed from the protection of the army. The move is controversial in every way- they are abandoning the trees, they are moving to a cave, of all places - but relations between silvan and sindar elves are stronger than ever. They've realised that they'll have to stick together to survive in the coming darkness.


End file.
